He Knew The Things He Knew
by Elaine Vivian
Summary: Most people just see an old man and think of the wrinkles and grandfatherly way he looks at them. But sometimes there are things that old men know that no one else does.


_***A/N: I thought of this idea, I don't know why. I hope you enjoy it. R&R**_

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There was a day in 1956 when it was raining in New York City. There was a diner in lower Manhattan that was mostly empty but for the cook, a waitress, a busboy, and a few patrons who were waiting out the rain.

At the bar sat a young man and woman, probably seventeen, sharing a plate of fries and a milkshake. The boy was tall and handsome with ashy blond hair and eyes in the like; the girl was small and innocent looking with blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Her bangs hung slightly over her eyes like a curtain, just enough to keep a little fun mystery between the couple. They were looking lovingly into each other's eyes as they sipped from the milkshake.

At a booth by himself sat an old man in his sixties. He was lanky but not thin; his face was solemn but not angry; his eyes were tired but not sad. He seemed to be an ordinary old man to everyone, but this old man was far from anything like that, for this old man knew. He knew loss and love and happiness and death. There were few others that knew the things he did.

The young busboy, Benny Gold, brought his rag to the table where the old man's coffee sat untouched, losing its warmth. He began to wipe it down, avoiding the old man's half. He smiled at the old man, who was staring off now. "Heya, Mr. Delancey. You doin' okay?" he asked.

Mr. Delancey blinked calmly a few times, then looked up at Benny and smiled sadly. "As okay as I ever will be, Benny. Tell me, son, how's your gramps? I'se surprised you ain't workin' for him. Your family's still got that deli, don't they?"

Benny nodded. "Yeah, we do. Grampa Henry's doin' pretty well. Ma's concerned about his heart. Granma Piper's doin' okay, too. Still judgin' every girl I bring home, though," he joked.

Mr. Delancey chortled. "She always was like that. Judgin' everyone else t' keep from bein' judged herself. So whatchya doin' workin' here? Sick o' your family all ready?"

"Ah, I just figured I'd try and get a job without my family's help. Grampa didn't think I could, but that wasn't gonna stop me."

"Well you sure showed him, huh? You'se a lot like he was, back in the day. He didn't let nothin' stop him from startin' that deli, an' I doubt you could even get it from him in death." Mr. Delancey laughed loudly at his own joke and took a sip from his cold coffee. As he swallowed it down, he began to cough, spraying the liquid all over Benny's clean half of the table.

Benny put his hand on the old man's back. "You sure you're all right?" he asked, unsure. He tried to joke about it. "Not great for business, old men chokin' on their coffee, you know."

Mr. Delancey coughed out what he could and then calmed down, taking a long, deep breath. "I ain't dyin' on you, boy. I got plenty o' time, but I don't got the energy."

Benny looked like he was about to say something for a moment, but then closed his mouth and sat down across from Mr. Delancey, wiping off a place where he could lean on his arms. "Do you mind if I ask you a question, sir?"

The old man laughed. "Ha! Since when am I a sir? Go ahead, son."

The busboy took a deep breath. "Granma is always talkin' about her friend from when she was my age. She died a while ago, back when I was a little kid. I was thinkin' because you two sorta grew up together, maybe you mighta known about her?"

"Yeah, maybe. What was her name?"

"Well, Granma said that her real name was Lucy, but whenever she tells the stories, she calls her Stars. I guess a lot of poor people had nicknames back then… so do you know who she was?"

Mr. Delancey took his time in answering Benny. "Stars was a newsie. I suppose since that's how your grandparents met, you know what that is. She was good at sellin', too. A real pretty girl, small and blonde—small was the thing t' look for in a girl back then. She was tough as nails, brave as any boy. She got in a lot of trouble, though. Got hurt a lot. Anyway, she ended up with a guy who worked for a newspaper. They were happy together, even had a nice sized family. Her kids are still alive, so is her husband."

Benny leaned forward. "What happened to her? How'd she die?"

The old man let out a sigh and looked down into his cup of coffee, hardly reflective. "She never was the most healthy," he relented. "Like I said, she got hurt a lot when she was young. She had fits sometimes, when she'd remember those times. They wasn't so good. Drove her a little crazy, so the doctors gave her some medicine to keep her nerves together. One day, she just couldn't take it anymore."

There was a long pause before anyone spoke. Benny dared, "Did she kill herself?"

Mr. Delancey laughed without humor. "No. Her heart just gave out from the stress of it all. It was too much. As tough as she was, she had her days an' she had her weak spots. Turns out that her heart was one of 'em."

"Geez," the busboy replied. "Were you close friends with her?"

"Indeed I was," the old man sighed. He looked up at Benny then, looking at him with those tired-but-not-sad eyes. "She was my wife."

Benny looked ashamedly down at his hands. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. He scooted out of the booth and grabbed his rag. "I better get back to work." He shuffled quickly off to another empty table and began to wipe it down.

"Yeah," muttered Mr. Delancey. "You better had." He went back to staring off, or so it seemed to Benny and the waitress and the cook. But really, he was looking at the couple at the bar, sharing their fries and their milkshake. He saw himself in that boy, ready to do anything for that girl in whom he saw _her_, always loving and knowing.

Most people will look at an old man and see a wrinkly, childlike grandfather or a wise, prophetic teacher. People looked at Morris Delancey like he was just one or the other, but now at least there was someone else who knew exactly what he was always thinking about.


End file.
